


"No tears for me?"

by Otherwise_Uncolonized



Series: Black Panther [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Disney - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: African Folklore, American Politics, Backstory, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bittersweet, Black Character(s), Black Family, Black Panther (2018) Spoilers, Blood and Violence, Bullying, California, Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Depression, Despair, Discrimination, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Family Member Death, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Freeform, Gang Violence, Gen, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Innocence, Introspection, Loneliness, Loss of Innocence, Marvel Universe, Murder, My First Fanfic, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Police, Police Brutality, Poor Erik, Poverty, Pre-Black Panther (2018), Racism, Random & Short, Revenge, Revised Version, Revolution, Revolutionaries, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, The Revolution Will Be Televised, Tragedy, Villains, Vulnerability, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-24 15:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13813770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Otherwise_Uncolonized/pseuds/Otherwise_Uncolonized
Summary: ·´¯`·.¸༺[♚]༺๑۩8۩๑༻[♚]༻¸.·´¯`·“No tears for me?”N'Jadaka looks at his childhood before looking at his father. “Nah...everybody dies." His heart breaks. "That’s just life around here.”





	"No tears for me?"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Metamorphiac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metamorphiac/gifts).



> I've only seen BP once, so please bear with me. From what I can recall, Erik (N'Jadaka) calls his dad "Baba" as a boy. It shifts in this to show his growing disconnection from his roots as the hood claims him.

* * *

_“Tell me a story, Baba.”_

_“What story, my son?”_

_“About home.”_

_._

.

.

He cried when Moms died on the floor of an Oakland County jail cell without telling him that night, _“Happy Birthday, my little king."_ The pigs said whatever they needed to say to scrub the blood off their hands, but Baba could smell it from the door. Then they beat the blood out of Baba until he couldn’t tell his eyes from his forehead anymore. He hugged his Baba in the back of the police car and cried until he couldn’t tell real life from Hell anymore. Baba told him not to cry because strong black men don’t show weakness, but when he finally went home with Baba’s friend, he couldn’t stop wetting the bed sheets with his tears.

.

.

.

He cried when Maleek died on the sidewalk of 7th Street. The eyes that gazed back into his eyes looked like fish eyes, and the blood coming out of the hole in his head looked like black liquorice instead of red Punch. None of the grownups who walked outside pulled him off Maleek’s body. This old brother told him not to cry because everybody dies out here in these streets, but when he finally went home with Baba, he couldn’t stop soaking his [wife-beater](https://www.ebay.com/p/3-Men-White-Tank-Top-100-Cotton-A-shirt-Wife-Beater-Ribbed-Undershirt-Size-S-8x-7xl/1358353611) with his tears.

.

.

.

He cried when Guttermouth died in DeFremery Park on New Years Eve. The blood that dyed his jacket stained his heart before they could pull Guttermouth off his body. This old coon in cop clothes told him not to cry because everybody dies out here from these drivebys, but when the pigs finally took him home to Pops, he couldn’t stop dampening his sleeves with his tears.

.

.

.

He cried when his dreams died on the playground of Cole Elementary School. Abdu Baharia had taken his Wakanda sketches and put them in the trash, telling him that no African — fictional or otherwise — would ever accept him because, _“American blacks are damaged goods who’re all dumb, violent, and lost.”_ Pops told him not to cry because Wakanda would never turn its back on him, but when he closed his bedroom door, he couldn’t stop drenching his T’Challa portraits with his tears.

.

.

.

He didn’t cry when Pops died in their apartment on President’s Day. The eyes that gazed back into his eyes looked like a stranger’s eyes when he pulled his father’s lids apart, and the blood coming out of his heart looked like the blood on the streets: black and endless. Yet he knew, because the holes in his heart were from panther claws instead of bullet wounds, that he was not killed by the streets. He was killed by N'Jadaka's dreams. This old detective told him not to cry because everybody dies and that was just life around here, but when he finally walked into foster care with blood on his jeans and mind, he vowed to soak Wakanda’s soil with T’Challa’s.

.

.

.

“No tears for me?”

N'Jadaka looks at his childhood before looking at his father while his ancestral plane glows against the glass barriers that separate him from it. “Nah...everybody dies." His heart breaks. "That’s just life aroun' here.”

.

.

.

_"That’s why I don't even have tears for myself."_


End file.
